What Will We Eat
by Reefarious
Summary: Dawn of the Dead, the redneck remix. Rated M for graphic violence, sexuality, and drug use.
1. Chapter 1

CPSO Officer Confirms Own Brother as One Perpetrator of Wilkinson County "Zombie Attack"

Posted August 10, 2011 2:44PM CDT

CONCORDIA PARISH, LA (KBUD , Amanda Broussard) An officer at the Concordia Parish Sheriff's Department, twenty-nine year old Joshua Brooks, received a devastating telephone call on Sunday night, August 7th. Officer Brooks had just fed and rocked his newborn son to sleep and was bringing a glass of ice-water up to his wife when the phone rang, around 10:45 PM that night.

"I was worried. Nobody ever calls us that late. Me and Sean always talk on Tuesday or Wednesday nights, so he was the farthest possibility from my mind. My first thought was that something was wrong with my parents or my mother-in-law, but when I saw the caller ID I knew it had to be about him."

Officer Brooks knew because his brother - Sean Brooks, age thirty-two - has been living in Wilkinson County, Mississippi, just over the state line, for seven years. The number he mentioned on the caller ID was from Wilkinson County General Hospital.

"My heart just sank when I saw it. My brother's young. He's healthy. He's a math teacher, ya know, so... Well, when I saw it was from the hospital, I knew something had to be bad wrong,"

Officer Brooks says that instead of a doctor or other hospital employee, the person calling from the hospital was a fellow police officer. "He said his name was Sgt. Rudd and that my brother had me listed as his emergency contact. He said he just needed me to get down there. He wouldn't tell me what had happened or if my brother was even dead or alive. I figured he must have been in a bad car accident or something. I got off the phone, told Millie where I was going, and sped all the way there."

When he arrived at the hospital, Officer Brooks says that Sgt. Rudd was waiting for him outside the emergency department doors. "I don't know if he'd been standing there the whole time it took me to make the drive or if he just happened to step out at the right moment, but as soon as I saw his face I knew it was even worse than I was thinking. He was white as a ghost, just looking downright _sick_. When I walked up to him, he knew right away who I was, and he just put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes and -"

Officer Brooks's emotions get better of him at this point in the interview, and even though he is clearly a strong, courageous officer of the law, he breaks down into heartfelt tears right before my eyes. Hearing his voice break as I play the tape to write this, my own eyes tear up all over again. I give him some time, but eventually I have to ask him to finish his story.

Ever courageous, he continues. "The guy just looks at me and finally he says, 'Two of my officers that were on patrol together responded to a call from the management at the Pine Border Motel.' I'm not going to go into all the details exactly to protect my brother's privacy, but what he basically told me was that Sean and a young lady had spent the night together in a motel room and... well, something went wrong."

A curious situation. An emotional Officer Brooks goes on to describe a nightmare he seems barely able to repeat. The police officer who met him at the hospital is Sergeant Will Rudd. Here's what he had to say about the scene, from the inside:

"We received a call about what sounded like a possible domestic dispute between a male and a female at the Pine Border Motel. The call was placed by management, who claimed that occupants in the rooms on either side of Mr. Brooks's had both called the desk to report the noise. By the time my guys got there, a little crowd had formed. The male occupant, Mr. Brooks, was unresponsive at the scene. The female was nowhere to be found, but the other occupants reported having seen her earlier in the evening, when she and Mr. Brooks apparently went out for a while. No one witnessed the alleged dispute, and no one saw what had left Mr. Brooks in that condition. One of the occupants had stepped out for a smoke when the ruckus quieted down, and she saw him there on the ground and let out a scream that got a crowd started.

"The officers on the scene radioed an ambulance, and then called in to report to me. Given the nature of recent attacks in other parts of the country, I wanted to be there at the hospital, see it for myself. He was tore up something awful. It was bad. Real bad. Bite marks all over him. He never _really_ regained consciousness, or it didn't seem like, at least.

"We waited and waited, hoping he'd wake up by the time his brother got there. It was about six hours later when he attacked the doctor. I'm not at liberty to discuss all this in full detail, of course. He turned very aggressive and unfortunately didn't survive his injuries. They'd just pronounced him dead and I stepped out for some air and that's when I saw Officer Brooks. I knew it was him right off. Looked just like his brother. It was real hard having to tell him about it, and having to ask him to identify his brother's body. Our thoughts and prayers are with his family and friends now."

[Amanda] - "Was there any indication that the victim had been using drugs such as Bath Salts, which have been presumed responsible for attacks in other parts of the country and now the world?"

[Sgt. Rudd] - "At this point in the investigation - and we're pretty well past toxicology and searches - there's no indication of drug use of any kind in the victim. That does not mean the woman we presume to be his attacker wasn't using them, though. We just didn't find any evidence she was, and toxicology reports from the hospital prove that Mr. Brooks was absolutely clean. We are looking for this woman now. We believe her name is Marcella Birch, black hair, hazel eyes, Caucasian, female, approximately thirty years old. We're working on a photo to circulate to the, uh, press, but she didn't have a picture ID in the purse we found so all that's off her credit cards and the descriptions given by witnesses at the scene. We've impounded the vehicle she left at the motel, and that vehicle was also registered to the name Marcella Birch."

[Amanda] - "Is Marcella Birch to be considered dangerous? What should readers do if they encounter Ms. Birch?"

[Sgt. Rudd] – (after a long pause) "Yes, yes, we're considering her dangerous. If you think you see her, just call in her location and we'll take it from there. Do not approach her or attempt to make contact."

Officer Brooks didn't know, or wouldn't say, any more than Sgt. Rudd. No employees from Wilkinson County General Hospital would agree to give me an interview. They're all very tight-lipped about the incident.

As a human being, I am afraid to pose the question that, as a reporter, I feel I am obligated now to ask: Does the absence of drugs on the scene give credence to Dr. Evan Frasier's recently proposed hypothesis - dubbed by some doctors, politicians, and news outlets "The Frasier Fallacy" or "Frasier's Folly" - that the drugs, the "bath salts", were merely a catalyst to jump-start the spread of a bacteria or virus that leads to the violent outbursts we've heard more and more about since they began in January of this year?

All this reporter can say is that the comfortable wall of distance between we in the deep South and these deranged biting attacks seems to be starting to crumble. I, for one, think it's time we sought answers.

Mo tapped the ashes off her joint. There was no such thing as good news lately. She'd started following the stories when the first incident had taken place in Chicago, back in January. She'd considered using it as fodder for her Freshman Psych term paper. The professor was a known zombiephile, and Mo thought it might be amusing to consider the possibility that the current pop-culture zombie craze was beginning to affect people.

Of course, she was fairly sure it was the drugs. Amanda Broussard was one of the better podunk reporters from this factory-driven hick town, but she was still a podunk reporter from this factory-driven hick town, after all. That Frasier guy might be onto something, but Mo wasn't even ready to start contemplating that end of things yet. This attack was by far the closest to home, but the overall number of bite attacks had gone down the past couple of months. She wasn't going to let it spoil her Zen. She slipped out of her pajamas, laid them across her footboard, and climbed into bed.

Seventeen miles from Mo's house, Ciji Metoyer had just read the same article (sans joint). Amanda Broussard was her favorite local journalist and reporter, and she wanted to observe the best in hopes that someday she could be amongst them.

After, she read a story about an eighty year old woman from the area who had been walking 4 miles of highway every day for 15 years to collect recyclables. She'd been using the meager payback to keep her water bill up. "These litter bugs have been keeping my water on for FIFTEEN YEARS!" Ciji gave a giggle.

She settled into her bed and turned on Anderson Cooper with her journal (a worn, half-full composition notebook) and pen in front of her on the mattress. During commercials she wrote her musings about the old woman and about what she'd done that day, and two sentences about Amanda Broussard's article: "There was a bite attack in Mississippi, somewhere near the border. Broussard wrote a really great article about it." Underneath she absently drew a little doodle of herself wearing a visor, hunched over a typewriter on a very-cluttered desk with a laptop to one side and a ringing phone to the other, and a camera hanging from her neck on a lanyard until she fell asleep.


	2. Marcella's Song

Marcella Birch was trouble before, during, and after her life. Her mother had never bothered to pretend she'd wanted to have her, or that it had been easy or in any way pleasant to be her mother.

While many children were growing up with warnings to get in before the street lights and the occasional reprimand or week of being grounded, Marcella was being raised on such gems as, "You're the reason only drunk men like Mommy!" and "I'm so excited about your first day of kindergarten! It'll be the first time in five years I've had you out from _up my ass_!" and "You tell them you fell down the front steps!" and "When was you gonna tell me you was dropped out of school and getting passed around the whole fucking football team, ya goddamn little _whore_?"

Ages sixteen through twenty-eight were pretty much an alcohol-induced haze punctuated by the occasional crack or meth binge and a handful of abortions.

She would never know who her father was, and she couldn't remember her mother's funeral when she was twenty-six, though the few people who'd been in attendance would never forget the way she'd stumbled over to the the coffin and spat right into her mother's face. An uncle who hadn't seen her since she was three was kind enough to remove her before anyone called the police and drop her off at one of her boyfriends' houses.

At twenty-nine, she finally wrecked the 1980 Firebird she'd been stealing from her mother for joyrides since she was fourteen and was bequeathed upon her mother's death. She was wasted out of her mind and ran a stop sign, plowing into a family in a minivan. The mom and one kid needed stitches. One of the other kids had a broken leg or something, she wasn't even sure.

Whatever the case, she'd cleaned up a bit during her year in jail, and a bit more still during her parole. Her original parole officer had noticed her improvement and, hoping to get her out of a bad situation and away from all her bad memories, he'd set her up with a job working in her sister's boutique in Wilkinson County, where she became known as nothing worse than a somewhat slutty party-girl.

She'd met Sean Brooks in a bar. She'd liked his heartfelt smile and the shine in his eyes. He'd liked her long black hair and slender, creamy legs...

She didn't drink enough to get too sloppy anymore, and she was frequently drug-tested by her new parole officer. Going out to bars was just because she felt right in them. She'd order herself a drink and just wait. For a man to buy her another one, for a game of pool or darts, for a piece of ass to bring home, for a new friend or an invite to a good party, for the kinds of things she liked to do.

He'd tried asking her out on real dates: movies; dinners; plays; picnics. But she only ever wanted to have a couple of drinks and go back to the motel. He thought she didn't think he was good enough for him, and she would never have a chance to clarify that it was just the opposite.

He was making her nervous. She was terrified that this would be the night he dropped the l-bomb on her. Love meant dates, soft kisses for no reason, gifts, walks, laughing together, and no more wild nights with strangers. No more drugs, probably ever, even after parole. She was doing better. She was doing well at her job. When she woke up in the mornings she knew where she was and could clearly recall at least a majority of the previous day, week, even _month_ now. But she wasn't quite ready to think about truly settling down. She didn't even know if she ever wanted to be.

She knew she was attractive to men. She knew if she ever wanted a permanent home or a family, it was just a matter of flashing her best smile in the right one's direction. She could have been married a dozen times over by now, if she'd wanted it. Something in her liked to be free, something in her loved going to a bar and not knowing who she'd leave it with. She was just learning to enjoy spending her money on hair and nails and shoes and the note on her Honda – all equally selfish but far less dangerous than drugs. All far more interesting drains on one's finances than diapers and conservative dresses.

She wanted Sean... at a _distance_. At least for now. And she didn't know what to say to him. She didn't know how to respond if he ever uttered the dreaded l-word in her direction. She preferred not to hurt good men in the process of having her fun. She had more than her average two drinks that night.

She'd calculated correctly that this was the night Sean would tell her he loved her. What she hadn't calculated was that his shining eyes and heartfelt smile, while genuine, were fickle things at best.

They met at the motel, walked hip-to-hip to the bar for drinks and back to the motel again. On the same floral bedspread pattern they'd seen at least two dozen times, he took her hand. "I don't want to just be a fixture in your favorite motel room, Marci. I want to see you in full sunlight, in the daytime. I want to hear what your laugh sounds like in the park. I want to see how you swim. I want to know how you make love in a camping tent. I love you, Marci."

She had a protocol for situations like this, for those rare occasions when she met someone she _really_ liked and let herself spend too much time with them. First was the smile. She thought it was a bittersweet smile, and maybe to some men's eyes it was. It had never caused her any trouble before. But to Sean Brooks, the smile said, "Awww, how pathetic. What a loser. You fool. You idiot. You pussy whipped fucking _moron_. How amusing."

Second was the squeeze. They were invariably holding her hand when in situations that required use of her protocol, and at this point, after the smile, she would squeeze their hands, holding them tight in her own. _I am here, I am with you, I am hearing you and feeling you._ But to Sean, the squeeze was condescending and forced.

He broke the protocol. He squeezed back, hard. Harder. Was he doing this on purpose. "Sean? Sean, that hurts -"

"_Nooo_!" Sean roared right into her face, squeezing harder still, his face turning instantly beet-red. One of her fingers popped loudly, but she couldn't wrangle her hand away to see if it was broken. It hurt too much, and he wouldn't loosen that grip. "Do you know what fucking _hurts,_ Marcella? Do you?"

"Yes, my fucking _hand_! Let me go, you fucking creep!"

"Big mistake, Marci!" He gave her a hard yank in his direction. Her wrist ached, sudden and intense.

He'd ranted and raved like that, slapping her, hitting her, shouting vileness and droplets of spit directly into her face. She fought back at first, being as loud as she could be, sure that someone would hear and help her. She underestimated the other tenants' devotion to privacy. Sean had blacked both her eyes and raped her before the first complaint to the front desk was made.

He hadn't meant to kill her. A hard punch to her temple, and he thought she was knocked out. He'd paced the floor, trying to think of what to say, feeling horribly guilty, knowing he should leave before she woke up but not willing to let go. He was thinking of cleaning up the blood, buckling her into his front seat, and bringing her to his house so he could _think..._ when she sprang up and startled him. She stared at him, her eyes somehow blank and wild all at once. Slowly, almost mechanically, she'd approached him in a strange crawl-climb-slip combination across the smooth bedspread.

He'd backed away, stammering her name until he'd run into the TV and dresser behind him. "Marci, are you OK, honey? Listen, I..."

She fell off the end of the bed, but it didn't matter. He was only about sixteen inches away and she took bites out of him from feet to face as she used his body to pull herself up and stand. He managed to push her away, confused and in pain and absolutely terrified, and made his way as far as the door, which he opened and promptly fainted halfway out of, where he bled profusely from the neck until help arrived.

Marcella stumbled over the fallen Sean and caught sight of a homeless man in the wooded area across the parking lot, who seemed to consume all her attention. She hobbled after him, though he never knew anything but that he thought he heard something behind him a couple of times. She fell into a well that was haphazardly covered with sheet-metal next to the burned remains of a very old and nearly forgotten house that had once belonged to the motel owner's great-great-grandmother, and was never of any consequence to anyone again.


	3. Chapter 2

Marcus Smith had been in love with Maddy Newland since ninth grade. And it wasn't just her big, angelic brown eyes or the way she was chubby in all the right places. It wasn't even all about the way her full, luminous brown hair had natural highlights of mahogany and honey blond.

In fact, it was mostly about a presentation she'd given in freshman debate, an argument in which she had put a rival school's debate captain directly into his place in the most graceful display of intelligence and sass he'd ever seen. And they both loved the band, Avenged Sevenfold. And the fact that she could kick every last one of their asses in a game of Sorcerer's Glenn.

He had a rival in this love, and he knew it. Robbie Petropoulos, not as big a brain as Marcus but ten times the athelete and not exactly stupid. He didn't know if Robbie had been into Maddy as long as he had, because Robbie had only started casting those disgusting, blue-eyed, sideways glances and red-cheeked smiles her way since about a week ago, and it could have been because a week ago was one week til graduation and Robbie knew Maddy would finally be allowed to date.

And really, what did that matter? Robbie could have loved Maddy from birth as far as Marcus cared. He'd spent most of high school writing a poem about her and the past two weeks copying it onto expensive stationery in perfect calligraphy, and tonight, as soon as he had a moment alone with her, he was going to give it to her. What timing could be better than at their graduation party amongst their closest friends?

He watched her, almost breathless, as she shuffled her deck. She would win, of course. She nearly always won at Sorcerer's Glenn. She had the best cards of anyone there, and it wasn't just that - she was _good_. Marcus had only beaten her twice in the four years they'd been playing. He hadn't enjoyed it, either, but she was the kind of girl who'd know if you let her win, and she wouldn't appreciate it.

To his left sat Ciji, fellow brain and salutatorian to Marcus's valedictorian. She was a short, thin girl with wide brown eyes and a deep ebony complexion. She wore cute little wire-frame glasses and Marcus could easily see why Wynn liked her so much, but he'd never really thought of her that way. She was an old friend, since second grade, and they'd always been close because they'd always been the smartest two kids in their grade.

Next to Ciji, holding tightly to her hand with both their forearms resting on her leg, her boyfriend, Wynn. Nothing to shake a stick at academically, but more of a music geek than anything. He was a genius on a set of drums, and he'd been first chair in the marching band's clarinet section for as long as Marcus could remember.

He thought dreamily about how soon it would be himself and Maddy holding hands, his forearm perhaps daring to rest on the softness of her thigh. A kiss, maybe, if she'd let him get away with it tonight.

He was lost in starry-eyed romance when Maddy slapped the table just under him with a tinkling little giggle. "You with us, Marcus?"

He smiled at her. "Yeah, I'm ready when y'all are."

"It's Wynn's house, he goes first!" Maddy answered cheerfully.

Marcus could only gaze at her and try to imagine ways in which he might place them alone together sooner than later. That poem was burning a hole into his pocket. He had to give it to her as soon as possible.

They were halfway through their game when something snapped Marcus very abruptly out of his daydreams. He'd barely paid attention to the game itself, let alone what was going on at the table around him. He was in a very blissful part of his imagination in which he'd worked up the courage to slip Maddy the poem under the table, and she'd read it under the table just as secretly, and surprised everyone when she'd jumped up and wrapped her arms around Marcus and...

Suddenly, something wasn't right. He was jolted back into reality. He looked around, trying to understand what it was, and then it jumped right out at him, the most obvious thing in the world.

Maddy was next to him, smiling a very sheepish smile. Next to her was Robbie, his cheeks red, his eyes cast downward, and they were _holding hands_. Right there in front of him.

It was all he could do not to gasp, "WHAT THE FUCK?" right out loud. Had he really been that spaced out? Had he been so in denial all this time that he'd seen Robbie's smiles and glances to Maddy but never noticed she was reciprocating them? When had this happened? What had he missed? What the _actual fuck_?

He was shaking. He knew he'd gone pale because everyone was looking at him strangely. He stood up slowly. "I'm out. I don't feel well. I need to go home."

"Marcus, please?" Maddy's voice. Like she fuckin' cared.

"At least let me drive you home, man." Wynn this time.

"Thanks, man, I'll walk." His jaw set, his hands clenched into fists. He walked out the door.

His house was only a half mile down this little backwoods highway. He needed the time to blow off steam. He knew they knew what had upset him. He was too embarrassed to go back and apologize and just enjoy the graduation party. He didn't think he could stand being around Robbie and Maddy, anyway, seeing them hold hands and god only knew what else.

He picked up rocks off the side of the road and threw them as hard as he could. Hard enough that they threw little sparks when the hit the pavement. Some of them cracked in two. He'd hear one piece fly to one side and the other hit all the way across the street, and it felt good. Better, at least.

He didn't hear the big '68 Chevy coming around the curve, and certainly did not know it had a brand new paint job, cerulean blue with silver flecks. It was a loud truck, but he was just too lost in his anger, too caught up throwing rocks and cursing Robbie under his breath. He didn't notice until he heard his rock bounce off the hood and fly into a tree. He thought about ducking off into the trees, but he wasn't even sure they'd even stop and didn't want to get eaten alive by mosquitos or lost. He didn't generally go out of his way to associate with anyone who drove a big truck with a Confederate flag graphic on the back glass, but maybe they'd just keep going.

For a few seconds, they did. Then they hit the brakes so hard they squealed and tiny pebbles spewed from under the tires.

A woman, just shy of six feet tall with a mullet and her front four teeth missing, got out of the driver's seat. She had kill in her eyes. She started toward him.

He was stammering a clumsy, "I'm sorry, ma'am, it wasn't on purpose, I just -" when a big burly fellow with a bushy black beard and one hell of a beer gut slipped out behind her.

"Well, look-ee here," said the bearded fellow.

"Look-eeeee heeeere," agreed the woman with a devilish smile.

The passenger's side door opened. A third voice, raspy but _deep_, boomed, "What is it? Look at what?" followed by a deep, hacking cough. An even bigger, burlier man, but older, with a long gray beard and a _lot_ of prison tattoos walked around the truck, inspecting the hood carefully as walked, looking annoyed and yet genuinely curious.

_Oh fuck. A truckload of rednecks._ Marcus stood frozen to the spot.

"Oh!" The old man again. "I see! Well, boy, you done dented the hood of my daughter's truck."

"Look, Mister, I didn't mean to. I can pay for the damage, if you'll just -"

"What the _name of God_ is wrong with you, boy. I didn't ask you to speak." Gray Beard. This "boy" thing was starting to worry Marcus. That with the flag on the back window didn't seem a good sign.

"I'm sorry, sir, I -"

He didn't get to finish. The old man had him by the nape of his neck and was dragging him over to the car. "You're goddang right you're gonna pay for it, boy. You're gonna pay for that _and_ for speaking out of turn! Now, look at the dent!" The old man was insanely strong for his age. He slammed Marcus's face down so hard on the hood of the car that he chipped his front tooth and cut his chin. "Do you see it, boy? Do you fucking see it?"

Marcus didn't answer. Wrong move. He slammed his face down again. Blood poured from his chin.

"You better answer when he's talkin' to you!" the woman managed in the midst of peels of laughter. The black beard man just stood there with his hand on her ass, grinning like a retarded gorilla.

His face hit the hood a third time. The rest of the tooth crumbled. "Yes, sir," he sobbed. Just breathing sent shots of jolting pain through what little was left of his tooth.

"Good!" The old man threw him to the ground. The envelope fell out at his feet. The woman, just inches away, apparently could read.

"Maddy Newland? Hey, that's my cousin!"

Gray Beard was over in a flash. "What's it say, Skunky?"

"It's a damn love poem!" she almost shouted.

"You nasty buck sonofabitch!" The old man was screaming. "You ain't getting your goddamn monkey paws on _none_ of my kin! Hold him, Elroy!" He tossed Marcus like an empty beer can right into his companion's arms. Elroy grabbed on tight around Marcus's arms and chest, laughing at his futile efforts to slip away. Skunky kicked him square in the balls and she and Elroy had a good laugh about it.

Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw what Gray Beard was retreiving from the chrome tool box on her truck bed. "Oh, Daddy, really?" she beamed.

Marcus threw up when he saw it. A hangman's noose.

He kicked and tried his best to scream with Elroy's massive, hairy hand clamped tight over his aching mouth. Elroy only responded by squeezing him tighter and mumbling, "Fuckin' coon blood all over my new jeans..." They brought him just a few feet into the woods, just far enough to find a good, strong tree.

The drop when Elroy let go of him with the rope around his neck was not hard enough to kill him. While he asphyxiated, the three stood around him and watched. The old man laughed and stuffed the now-crumpled poem into his mouth, replacing it roughly every time it fell from Marcus's gaping jaw. Skunky and Elroy giggled and pawed away at each other like a couple of horny teenagers.

Like Maddy and Robbie. The two of them were the last image in his mind before the world went black.

The old man gave a heartfelt nod. Elroy muttered a polite, "Good work, Ross. Good work, all of us." Skunky skipped all the way back to the truck.

Back at Wynn's house, Maddy was winning at Sorcerer's Glenn and they were all trying to think of a way to cheer Marcus up tomorrow so they could spend their last Summer together as friends.


	4. Chapter 3

Skunky was still all giggles as she started up her truck and pulled back onto the road. Elroy was rock-hard next to her, squeezed in between Skunky and Ross like a hulking dick-sandwich. The novelty was in no way lost on Elroy, of being the only person in the truck capable of getting a hard-on, and Ross's gigantic ass beside him did not concern him one bit. _Let the old coot say somethin'..._ he thought to himself,_ and he'll wind up just like that fuckin' rapist sumbitch we strung up in the tree not 20 minutes ago. _

Skunky rolled down the window and let out a howl. There was nothing like a southern summer night in her book. The way the thin ribbon of silvery road cut through trees, tall and plentiful on either side, was comforting to her. And she loved the way the balmy night air felt cool when it was passing through her truck window. Summer days were hot and long and could drain the life out of anybody, but summer nights were_ alive,_ and she felt that life truly was a party as she chugged the rest of her beer and tossed it into the tall roadside grass. Ross passed cigarettes to Skunky and Elroy. She gave Ross a nod and an enthusiastic, "Thank ya, Daddy!"

Elroy nodded his own appreciation quietly. He hated the old man's sloppily rolled pipe-tobacco cigarettes. They were too juicy and too strong and they tasted and smelled like a bucket of fresh-picked assholes. He needed a fuckin' cigarette in a big way and had a full, unopened pack of Grim Reapers in his back pocket, but he wasn't going to pull them out in front of Ross and end up giving half of them away even if it meant he'd be buried with them. Skunky didn't seem to mind too much, but he hated to see his woman go without a beer. Also, he_ hated_ to do the world such a big, costly favor and not get a celebratory piece of ass immediately after.

Although Elroy didn't realize it, he was seething visibly. Ross nudged him with his elbow. "S'amatter, Sasquatch?"

Ross heaved a big sigh and said in a gruff voice, "Baby, get us to Denham and let's stop off at our spot. Damn beer's in the bed, can't get to it."

Skunky shouted, "Sure thing!" Partially because of the radio being up and the windows being down, but also because she was bubbling over with excitement. She was smiling, her eyes electric and a little wild. Usually, running out of beer spoiled her good moods, but tonight it was early and they'd already had a better night than usual, even if Ross was along for the ride. Hell, he was the reason for this particular ride, anyway.

The old man nudged him again, annoyed that Elroy hadn't responded to him directly. "Did'ja hear me there, son? I asked you a question."

Elroy sighed again and shut his eyes. Whether Ross was the reason for this particular party or not, Elroy wished like hell he wasn't there. Regardless of Ross's presence, Elroy had no intention of not bending Skunky over the oak stump at their favorite little swimming hole in Denham. He didn't give a fuck if her daddy, grandparents, and the whole damn town showed up for it, either. _Matter of fact,_ he thought to himself,_ if she don't take her hand off my damn leg here in a minute I'munna cum my pants._ Of course, he didn't want to spoil the party, and there was a reason they were driving Ross around tonight, after all. He smiled and gave Ross a good-natured jab back. "Just anxious to see the fruits of this here excursion," he replied, sounding jolly. Ross grinned and nodded and patted his pocket.

Skunky's hand continued to play hell on Elroy's thigh until the moment they pulled into their hidden parking spot by the swimming hole. Ever the gentleman, Elroy did not cum his pants, neither did he forget to grab Skunky (and himself, and even Ross) a fresh beer. The three of them gathered around the hood of the truck, all of them stretching a bit as Ross handed out more cigarettes. The moonlight was strong and the sky blissfully cloudless, so they didn't have to worry about attracting attention with headlights or flashlights. She felt like she imagined she might have felt on her prom night, had she made it that far into her education. She felt young and vital and ready for anything, especially if it was attached to Elroy.

Ross reached into his pocket and produced a button bag almost stuffed full of white powder and little crystal shards. It didn't look like the meth they normally picked up from Ross's guy, but maybe this was something different. "Did Red try him a new recipe?" Skunky asked.

Ross shrugged. "He said it was some sort o'... new shit or some goddamn thing. Shit must be purty good. He was so fucked up he dumped out a goddamn half an ounce of the shit right out on the hood o' your truck and separated it up before he gave me mine. Fucker didn't even get it all up off there. Like he ain't never done a damn deal before or somethin', and I to-" Ross was cut off by his own diseased lungs. He pounded his fist on the hood of the truck as deep, hacking coughs took temporary control of him.

That had been all the explanation Skunky needed, anyway. She pressed herself against Elroy and nibbled at his neck while they waited for Ross to get done hacking and start doing some dope. Over a minute and a half later, it was finally under-way. Unfortunately, his coughing fit had taken his good mood down a notch or two, and besides that he didn't care to see that big ape walking around with a tent in his britches and his paws all over Skunky. While he'd been coughing it had occurred to him that they were waiting for a line or a bowl so they could run off into the trees for a quicky and leave him with nothing to do but stand around and overhear his own baby girl getting plowed by a Sasquatch. Damned if he wouldn't do most of his dope up in the truck with the radio goin'. He cut out a skinny little line for Elroy, right on the hood of the truck. He fixed up a slightly bigger one for Skunky, and then laid himself out a rail of an appetizer before tucking the baggy safely back into his pocket. He pulled out a wrinkled and blood stained dollar that was tucked away in the back of his wallet and rolled it up. "Ladies first," he offered, handing the bill to Ross.

Ross rolled his eyes and heaved an annoyed sigh, but took the dollar anyway and did his line up, then passed it to Skunky, who did her own line and passed it on to Ross. Within seconds her heart rate sped up and she jumped into Elroy's arms and wrapped her legs tight around his hips. With a cheerful grunt he grabbed on and walked her off into the woods without a word to spare for Ross.

Ross climbed into the truck. He didn't want to hear them fucking, but when he really stopped to think about it he didn't want to suffocate with the windows up or get the cops called with the radio on. He dug around in the glove compartment until he found Skunky's meth pipe. She kept it wrapped in paper towels inside some fancy-pants bag she'd gotten a bottle of liquor in for Christmas. Sometimes he really couldn't believe he'd raised such a responsible girl. Still, he never had been able to get his head around her wanting Elroy. Ross loaded the bowl and finished it off. And again. And again. And again. He'd been speeding his balls off since the hood of the truck. The speed calmed his spasming lungs, and he looked forward to at least one night of relative relief.

And he was relieved to find he couldn't really hear them. Now and again a bit of voice or a snapping branch, or the heavy rustle of dry leaves beneath two very active bodies. He just couldn't stand it. He knew that she was the kind of girl that did who and what she wanted, but he wished like hell he'd never introduced her to Elroy.

Thinking about it wasn't doing much for his buzz. He loaded another bowl as he tried to push his daughter's poor taste in men out of his mind. He took a long, deep suck off the little glass tube and shut his eyes. His heart sped up. Then he felt the slightest twinge of pain in his throat and arms, followed by a tightness that clasped slowly and firmly around his chest. He wheezed in a deep breath, prepared for what he thought would be the coughing fit of his life, but the cough did not come. He exhaled. His lungs were clearer than they had been in days. _Heart attack_, he thought immediately. He tried to shout, but the tight grip on his chest wouldn't allow it. He tried to pound his fist on the door, but his arm muscles were seized tight and he he couldn't make a sound.

A few yards into the trees, Elroy and Skunky were just re-robing themselves. Elroy was pretty well ready for round 2, but Skunky didn't feel right making her Daddy wait for them any longer. "Besides," she tried to soothe her sulking man, "another line'll have us good and revved up by the time we get some time alone tonight."

Elroy managed a grin for his Skunky. She did have a point. Besides, he'd got his rocks off, and as far as he knew she had, too, and that would do for now. Skunky hummed a little tune as she fastened her belt and pulled her boots back on. The insects were in full-blown concert. All-in-all, the night was going well. He walked up to Skunky and helped her up off the stump she'd been sitting on to dress. She smiled and gave him a big, smacking kiss before they started back for Skunky's truck.

The bugs weren't quite as loud when they stepped out of the woods and into the clearing around the swimming hole. All was quiet. Skunky raised an eyebrow when she saw Ross was sitting in the driver's seat. "Old fucker better not think he's fixin' to drive my truck," she muttered to Elroy as they approached. Ross's arm rested on the open window. "You 'wake, Daddy?" she called out. He didn't move or respond.

The couple approached Skunky's truck slowly. She didn't realize she was squeezing tightly to Elroy's arm, nor did she attribute her heart rate to anything more than drugs, but whether Skunky knew it or not, she was scared. "Ain't no way he fell asleep on that shit," Elroy mused.

At the truck, Skunky opened her mouth to scream, but Ross clapped a rough hand over it tightly and pulled her close against him. He wrapped his other arm around her and kept holding her mouth. She threw back her head and stared up at him, her eyes wide. He stood and whispered for her to "breathe" until finally he knew she wasn't going to scream and let go of her mouth. He stared down into her strikingly blue eyes, even bluer when she'd been crying, and he couldn't help realizing he'd never known that because Skunky did not cry. In a small, shaky voice that he could hardly believe was Skunky's, she said simply, "Daddy..." She broke free from Ross's embrace, felt her father's wrist for a pulse and found nothing. No breath escaped his nose or mouth. "Aw, fuck, Daddy..." she moaned, and for once Elroy didn't enjoy the sound of that. She held Ross's hand in both of hers and turned her face back to Elroy. "Whatta we do, baby?"

Elroy sighed. "We'll drop him off at one of the bus stops in Woodruff. He'll look like he's sleepin' on the bench and a cop'll come up and they'll take care of it."

Skunky frowned, her eyes welled up with tears, and Elroy could do nothing but grab her and hold her close. "We can't leave him on a bench like that, Elroy..." she said, her voice more unsteady with each word. "We just can't, we can't, we can't, we-"

"Shhhh!" Elroy held her tight and smoothed her hair with his hand. "You know we can't go to the hospital, baby, you_ know_ we can't do that... We'll cover him up with my old coat that's still sittin' in your truck. We'll say goodbye – quickly, baby – and we'll go and they'll have him picked up and tended to in no time. Nobody'll know we was even with him."

Skunky crumpled in his arms and heaved silent sobs into his beer gut. Elroy wanted to comfort her. He didn't want to let go until she was ready. But he was starting to get nervous. It wasn't too wise for the two of them with their handful of warrants each to sit around in a semi-public location with a dead man and a bag of dope in their truck. He gave Skunky a gentle shake and pulled her up straight. "We can't just stand around here, baby, we need to get to Woodruff and get him outta your truck."

It was at this moment that Skunky said two words Elroy never thought he'd hear his woman say - "You drive." His jaw dropped and for a moment he wasn't sure how to proceed. The keys were in the ignition. She was just standing there. He'd never seen Skunky look vulnerable before, and couldn't imagine that before this very moment she ever had. She seemed somehow smaller, and fragile. Elroy went to her and put a gigantic arm around her. He helped her to the truck, one shaky little step at a time, and lifted her into the passenger's seat. He wasn't sure the truck even had seat belts, so he checked, and found that it did. He buckled her in and kissed the top of her head. Then he went around to the driver's side for the first time ever in his life. He gently pushed Ross into the middle, and Skunky made sure he didn't lean forward or topple back the other way, and once he was settled beside her she cuddled against him and cried into his shoulder, whispering things that Elroy couldn't hear or understand.

When he started the engine, the radio blared on, and for the first time ever, Elroy turned it off. He almost couldn't stand it, seeing her that way.

Woodruff was barely big enough to be considered a city. Trailers and houses sprawled on its outskirts, and lead up to a downtown that was slowly becoming worthy of the title. What had been a tiny sanitarium 103 years ago was now a gigantic hospital that provided most of the city's jobs. It was nestled in the long curve of the Red River, and the rest of town seemed to have sprung out from it. The way Elroy saw it, somebody would find Ross at the bus stop, and he'd be brought to the hospital just like anybody else that died. They'd check his license and someone would come to the house or call and tell them Ross was dead. And they'd plan the funeral, just like regular people who didn't have warrants and need to avoid being grilled and ID-ed by the police. Ross would've understood. He'd have done the same, even. Elroy knew it, and he knew that Skunky knew it, too. They didn't have a choice.

They left him there on the park bench and went back to the swimming hole. Skunky cried in Elroy's arms for exactly seventeen minutes and forty-two seconds. It was the first time he'd ever used his watch outside of work. Ross took a hearty bite or so out of the first two people who approached him on the bench, and it wasn't long before he was strapped firmly to a gurney and transported to the hospital, where he bit the two ER nurses who brought him in and several other patients before finally being locked in an exam room by two desperately frightened secretaries.

About thirty miles away from where Elroy was comforting his woman, the four remaining friends wrapped up their game of SG, and paired off to bed. The next morning, they piled into Ciji's car to head for IHOP. On the way there, Robby saw frantic movement just inside the trees and called out to his friends, "There's someone... in the woods..." His voiced trailed off to below a whisper. He'd realized too late that he_ really_ hadn't wanted to say it out loud, and he_ definitely_ didn't want to go back and check it out. Something had been very, very_ wrong_ about what he'd seen. It had only been a glimpse, but a glimpse of what appeared to be a human bouncing and flailing with its feet at a consistent three feet off the ground. The form of a human, jerking and writhing only to stay in one spot, suspended in air. And something else... something about the clothes...

He couldn't hide the sigh of relief when Wynn said casually, "Probably just a hunter or somethin'," and Ciji didn't hit the brakes. They went to IHOP, had breakfast, talked, and tried to all pretend that Marcus wasn't missing from the group because he was angry, but because he was sick or out of town and everything was going to be just fine with the five of them.

They might have all gone back home after that, gotten cleaned up and dressed and started on the next game of SG, except that Robby hadn't been able to help fixing his eyes on the very same spot on the way back. This time, Maddy had followed his gaze and seen it, too. She gave him a questioning look, needing confirmation that she wasn't imagining things. "What the hell is that?" she asked out loud.

Ciji raised an eyebrow and nodded to Wynn when he cast a curious glance in her direction. "Should we stop and check it out?"

She was already pulling over when the others chorused agreement. The four of them got out of the car and immediately could hear the ruckus whatever they'd seen was making. They tried to free their friend immediately, and he thanked them all by biting them. He got all of them but Ciji at least once. Maddy did not make it back to Ciji's car with them. Even Robby hadn't noticed she wasn't with them until they were almost back to Wynn's house. They all teared up when they realized it, and Ciji sobbed outright as she drove down their long stretch of road, but she did not apply the brakes, and not one of them suggested that she should.


	5. Chapter 4

Asher waddled across the hospital parking lot, her arm looped through Jason's and much of her weight leaned into him. There were still six weeks left in her pregnancy, but she looked more like she might pop at any moment. Her left arm was wrapped under her belly, trying to hold it up and take some of the strain off her lower back, but she wasn't sure it was helping enough to justify the shaking, tired muscles in her arms. Her long black ponytail swung dramatically behind her with each step she took, and Jason fought to keep his balance between her swaying strides and hard leaning. Both of them were looking up at the roof of the hospital. It was still pitch dark out, but it wouldn't be for long. They were watching the MedFlyt helicopter's very loud take-off. They craned their necks as they watched it disappear over the horizon, both lucky they didn't trip and fall.

Once the helicopter was out of sight, they both put their eyes back in front of them. It looked like things were starting to get busy. Before they crossed the next twelve feet, four EMT's had rushed out and run at full speed towards the ambulance bay around the corner of the building at the ER entrance. Two doctors were standing just outside the automatic doors the EMT's had used. Their raised voices were just loud enough to reach Asher's ears, but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying for some time. Even fifteen feet was a slow trek for her these days. Both of them were gesturing. One, a pretentious looking fellow in Asher's opinion, with slicked-back hair and a too-orange spray tan, was gesturing hard enough to fling little droplets out of his House of Java cup. The other, an older and more distinguished looking gent, was zig-zagging ribbons of cigarette smoke from his yellowed fingers as he spoke.

As Asher and Jason drew nearer to the doors, they were able to make out a bit of the conversation. Doctor Orange impatiently tapped his foot and sipped at his coffee as the older doctor said, "You realize, Will, that that's absolutely ridiculous. We can't just go sending patients into quarantine at the drop of a hat! We'd start a panic! And what would we tell them? That we don't know why? Sedate them, keep contact to a minimum, and check in with me in a couple of hours. We'll have this whole mess resolved by then, and-"

Asher jumped slightly and pressed closer to Jason when the younger doctor threw down his cup and showered the concrete with a thick, black liquid that smelled far too strongly of espresso. The older doctor stepped back a bit, but the hems of his pants were already splattered. Dr. Orange shouted, "Dr. Bledsoe, I don't think you've been listening to me! I told you, they were already -"

Now he was cut off by the elder doctor, who shoved his cigarette between his lips and put both hands on his companion's shoulders. "Do you need some personal time, Will? The stress gets to be too much for all of us at some time or another. Maybe a paid leave, or - ." Asher was stricken by how much less friendly his body language was than his tone of voice and words. Dr. Orange took in a deep breath and turned abruptly, making the old guy's hands drop back to his own sides as he walked back through the doors. Jason and Asher walked in a few steps behind him. The white-haired doctor did not follow, but stared after him, puffing heavily on what was left of his cigarette.

Jason and Asher exchanged a look but said nothing as they approached the open doors. The smell of hospital was the first thing to strike Asher. The hustle and bustle all around her was the second. Doctors, nurses, orderlies, and seemingly just about everyone else who worked there was up and about carrying stacks of charts or pushing carts or loading syringes with medication as they hurried along. No one wearing scrubs would look at them. They found the check-in desk deserted. Every line was blinking on the ringing phone. Asher leaned on the counter and looked up at Jason. He shrugged. Things had been quiet between them lately. Asher knew her silence was nothing more than how tired she'd been the past few months. She suspected Jason was quiet for different reasons, but had no intention of bringing it up until the baby was born and she was feeling like herself again. They both sighed, and each managed a little smile for the other. "Just sign the sheet," he suggested. "You need to be sitting down, resting." Asher nodded and signed in. She chose a seat towards the back, thinking she'd be damned if she didn't get to put her feet up while she waited.

She sat, thumbing through a random magazine from the table next to her, trying to think of something to say that might begin a conversation with Jason. She wasn't forced to sit and wrack her brain for long. Dawn was breaking outside, and the pale blue light was bathing everything in a surreal blue glow. Not far in the distance, a short and very thin woman was running towards the hospital and screaming at the top of her lungs. Long, golden blond hair flew behind her in glistening curls. She looked too dainty for the oversized cargo pants and checked flannel shirt she was wearing. At last Asher had something to say to Jason, "What the hell?"

He looked up from a dated copy of People Magazine, followed her gaze outside, and let his eyes settle on the quickly approaching woman. She skidded to a stop inside and looked around, her eyes wide and her hair disheveled. At last she spotted someone wearing scrubs, a nurse carrying a basket with little glass tubes and syringes who was rushing towards the exam rooms behind the desk. The little blonde ran to the nurse, grabbed her shoulders and screamed, "Help! You have to help! You have to shut those doors and you have to... to... you have to _lock_ them if you can!"

The nurse, startled, jumped back out of the blonde's grasp and stared at her for a few seconds. The woman didn't have the patience to wait for a response. She piped up again, "You have to _close_ those _doors! _Are you listening to me? They're coming! They're coming right now!"

The nurse took a deep breath and tried her best to force a patient smile. "Ma'am, you'll have to sit down and wait like everyone else." The blond woman's eyes went even wider and wilder.

"Do you hear what I am telling you?" She paused and looked over her shoulder, out the doors she'd come through. Jason and Asher looked, too. Still in the distance, walking at what looked like a relaxed pace, were two large men. One of them seemed to have a severe limp. Asher looked at Jason, who only shrugged again. The little woman kept going, "Don't you fucking see them? They're coming!"

The nurse's eyes flickered to the two men and back down to the woman. "They were chasing you?"

The blonde heaved a long sigh that appeared to deflate her upper body. She stared up at the nurse, her shoulders hunched and drawn inward. "Yeah... they're chasing me," she answered in a small, defeated voice. She straightened herself and turned to face the doors, her eyes fixed on her pursuers. "Everybody's gone damn crazy. I saw 'em hunkered down over some poor drunk on the corner by your parking lot and when I screamed they... they got up and started to follow me. You gotta shut those doors," she repeated with considerably less conviction. She turned back to the nurse, whose eyes were squinted and trained on the two men. The little blonde woman sighed.

"You can't let them in here. Please, just believe me, you can't let them in here with all these people. This is a hospital, for god's sake. There are sick people and… and… _babies_ here." She kept her eyes trained on the men. They were close now, and she seemed to want nothing more than to give up on this dense nurse and bolt.

"I'll page security." The nurse dashed off to the check-in desk and picked up the PA mic. "Security to outpatient check-in immediately, please. Security to outpatient check-in." She set it down and fiddled with something behind the desk that Asher and Jason couldn't see. Then she spared a final look for the blond woman before hurrying back to her original purpose. The woman looked around helplessly, then looked back at the door. The two men were just feet from the door now. An EMT ran past again and one of them turned and followed her. The other didn't seem to notice, and kept limping right for the entrance.

Less than half a minute later, two security guards and a police officer rushed in from the hallway that connected the emergency room to the outpatient check-in. The cop was standing a few feet behind them as though he'd sent them onto the front lines of battle himself. The little blonde ran up to them and pointed to the lumbering man, who was near enough to make the electronic doors slide open. Asher and Jason turned to look again, as well, and this time it was Asher who sat in total silence as Jason gasped out loud. The limp wasn't just a limp - it was the result of half his femur sticking out through a tear in his blood-stained pants. The broken leg stood a full three inches shorter than its counterpart. With each step the man nearly fell over, the flesh seemed to sink a little lower around the bone, and Asher was sure she could hear a faint, wet sucking sound. His gait would have been comical were she not so horrified by his condition. He said nothing, no screams or cries of pain, and Asher found it especially frightening that his face was twisted not in tormentous pain but rather it was somewhere between desperate and utterly blank. He was pale, and blood was beginning to dry all over the lower half of his face. Something that resembled raw hamburger meat dangled between his teeth.

The officer and security guards stood stunned for a moment, all of them staring down at the man's leg. At last one of the guards called out, "Sir, stop where you are," just as the other yelled out for a doctor. The limping man looked, his nearly lifeless eyes shifting from the blonde to the three men standing in front of him. He reached a slow hand up towards the guard who'd spoken and began to limp towards him. The little blonde, unable to believe her good luck, scurried off down the hall. The guard spoke up again, "Sir, stop now!" The man kept coming. The guards and officer took a few slow steps backward to put some more distance between themselves and the limping man.

The officer drew his taser gun and shouted, "Stop walking and hit the floor!" When the limping man only kept drawing nearer, he fired the taser. The barbs shot out, a ribbon of wire trailing behind them, and hooked squarely into the limper's chest. A harsh buzz peppered with loud clicks filled the air. Jason buried his face in Asher's shoulder, and she couldn't help rolling her eyes. She'd have liked to be the one burying her face in _his _chest, feeling a protective arm around her, knowing he'd look out for her. Now she supposed she was supposed to do the comforting, pregnant as she was, and all the protecting, too. She expected the man with the broken leg to hit the ground, but he didn't. His muscles twitched a bit, but not enough to do more than slow him down. The officer's jaw dropped. He threw the taser to the ground and drew his pistol. "This is your last warning, sir!" Asher covered her ears, her eyes squeezing shut involuntarily. The officer fired his weapon. The shot rang out loudly and echoed on the stark walls and cold floors.

For a few seconds, there was quiet except for the echo of the gunshot. Asher forced her eyes open. The man had been pushed back a few steps by the force of the shot. She could see the exit wound blown through the back of his shirt. Judging from it's location, the bullet had to have gone straight through his heart, but she supposed it couldn't have, because he just kept moving towards them. Jason looked up at last, and was stunned. The officer kept his weapon trained on the man as he pressed the button on his radio. "This is unit 28, I'm at St. Vincent hospital. I fired on an aggressor, I need back-up. This guy's on something, he is unresponsive to bullets! I need back-up!"

A voice piped up in response, tinny and shrouded in static. The officer seemed to ignore it. The man was nearly in arm's length of the security guard who'd been the first to speak. Asher felt her curiosity melt away. She put a hand on Jason's thigh to help herself up. "We need to get out of here," she said, hoping she sounded as urgent as she felt. Jason sat in shocked silence. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Asher looked back at the limping man and the guards just as the man managed to get a hand around the guard's shoulder and pull him close. He opened his mouth wide and leaned down. Asher didn't avert her eyes in time to miss the strange man take a gigantic chomp out of the security guard's neck. Blood sprayed everywhere, followed in short order by her meager breakfast. So much blood. She was mostly past the stages of morning sickness, but not yet beyond having a weak stomach - too weak to bear witness to a man having half his neck eaten in one bite, at least. "Oh, god," she groaned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and casting a sharp glare in Jason's direction. "We _have _to _go, _Jason."

A shot rang out, startling a little jump out of both of them. A bullet went through the limper's forehead, just above his left eye, and she was glad she hadn't had very much to eat that morning. He crumpled to the ground.

Asher instinctively reached out for Jason's hand, and he gave it to her. She pulled, tried to coax him up out of the chair. "I want to get out of here, Jason, let's go see Mo and Shadow, make sure they're okay..." At last Jason got to his feet. She started to pull him towards the doors they'd come in through, but what she saw there stopped her short.

The EMT that the limping man's companion had gone after was crawling inside, her arm bleeding from two places and another huge, bloody wound on her back. She kept looking behind her as she scrambled on all-fours. Her pursuer was not far behind. The EMT slipped and slid on the stone floor, the blood all over her hands and clothes not making things any easier. She couldn't seem to stand up, didn't even seem interested in standing up. Her face clearly expressed the one thing on her mind - getting the hell away.

Asher had the good sense to stop herself from shouting a frustrated, "FUCK!" Instead she quietly turned around, keeping to the back wall away from the trouble, and led Jason towards the hallway. It was simple enough sneaking behind the guards and officer, who were huddled on the floor shouting for a doctor and trying to put pressure on the security guard's neck, and she felt sure that with all the people between them the madman wouldn't notice or be interested in following them. Jason seemed to have no opinion on which direction to take, and allowed her to pull him like a dog on a leash. She could see he'd gone pale, his eyes were wide, and his lips drawn thin and tight. _He's terrified, _she thought to herself, _and useless._ Her brain wasn't interested in much outside the basics right now. Instinct took over before she had a chance to _feel_ anything about her observation. She stopped at the elevator and pressed the down arrow. Again. Again. Again. 45 seconds passed. Three new gunshots exploded from outpatient waiting, and she simply turned and headed for the stairwell instead. She shut the door behind them and checked for a way to lock it, but didn't see one. She turned to Jason. When she took her hand away, he tried to grab for it and whined a little through his nose. She narrowed her eyes and put her hands firmly on his shoulders. "Listen to me, Jason... I am seven months pregnant. I cannot drag a grown man down the stairs. You have to walk for yourself... You have to at least try a little! Okay?" She held her breath and watched his face, waiting to see if her words would sink in. After a few seconds, nothing. She shook him. "Jason, goddammit, you _have _to get it _together_! Something is seriously wrong and we have to get back to the Beetle." She watched. At last his eyes narrowed back to a reasonably normal size and he blinked and opened his mouth.

"How do we get there, Ash?"

"We're going down to the basement. Employee parking is down there and the outlet is right near where we're parked. The elevator was taking too long... we have to go now." She started down the stairs, looking up over her shoulder to make sure he followed. He didn't. He just stood there with a fresh dumbfounded gawk.

With a deep breath she went back up the three steps she'd descended and grabbed his hand. "Come on, then."

She dragged him down the first flight and around the corner. There she stopped, and had to force her hand out of his to avoid being knocked down the stairs when he was unable to do so himself. It was only a few seconds before he scrambled back up behind her, as though he intended to use her for a shield if it proved necessary. A woman in a white labcoat and green surgical scrubs was lying unconscious on the floor. A yellow-haired gentlemen, similarly attired, was crouched over her. When he saw the two of them, he reached up, and revealed two bloody stumps where his middle and forefingers should have been. "Help, please..." he choked out. "I've killed her... I've killed Andrea... Oh, God, I had to..."

Asher didn't think. She said nothing. She pressed herself against the wall, keeping a few feet between herself and the surgeons. She kept her eyes trained on him, told him without words that she would fight if he came too close. He seemed to understand. His eyes fell down to her swollen abdomen and something about that seemed to resonate with him. And for just a split second she felt something - a desperate wish that the same were true of her boyfriend. He held up his other hand now, in submission, and leaned away from them, not bothering to stand up. She led Jason down and through the basement door, very quietly.

There didn't seem to be much going on. She slid along with her back to the wall, heading towards the sunlight in the not-too-far distance. Fifty feet to their left, someone screamed. Two cars hit each other, and the sound of bending metal sang through the garage. _Yeah, make some noise, morons. _ She picked up her pace, feeling a little more confident. They practically skipped up the exit ramp and out into the sunlight. A few people were hurrying along the sidewalk, talking in hushed, frightened tones. _Fine._ She could hear Jason taking in deep breaths behind her, sucking in the fresh air as though they'd just come out of a sewage treatment facility instead of a hospital. _Good._ Across the street, the Beetle sparkled and shimmered, gorgeous golden yellow in the early morning sun, the most welcome sight she'd ever seen. She looked both ways at the edge of the street like a child, clutching Jason's hand. "Let's go," she whispered, and they dashed across and straight to the car. Jason even had the presence of mind to unlock her door the moment he slid into the driver's seat. He looked much more himself. "Now where?" he asked.

"SHH! Did you hear it?"

"What?"

"A bike… it sounds like the Indian... it's Mo and Shadow, it is has to be..."

Just then, Jason heard it too. They turned towards the sound, and their hearts sank. They were on the other side of the parking lot, heading for the entrance. Jason hit the horn, and Asher looked at him like he'd lost his mind, but it didn't matter because they didn't hear it, anyway. Asher saw Mo raise up a bat and club someone's skull in from the back of Shadow's bike. Then she saw them hop off the bike and disappear inside. This time, Asher did scream, "FUCK!" She pointed to the entrance, but Jason was already driving that way. "We're going to have to go back inside..." she sighed. Jason's face started to go green again. He broke a sweat right before her eyes just from trying to pay attention to his driving. She screamed again, "FUCK!" A deep breath. He was getting close to the entrance now. She popped open his console. Papers and gum and an unidentified pill that she handed to him and he dry-swallowed immediately. She was fairly sure it was Vicodin or something similar, and any state of mind but his current one would almost surely be an improvement. She reached under the seat and found a tire repair kit still in its package. And she didn't know what the fuck it was called, or what the fuck it's original use was, but it was a long sharp needle on a handle that would fit perfectly into her dainty fist, and she intended to perform some lobotomies with it today, if she had to. She turned sharply to Jason as he rolled to a stop.

"Fine. _I'll_ go in. They can't have gotten far, anyway, and I'll need you to be ready to drive. Don't fucking go anywhere, or I swear to God, Jason." She stepped out of the car and softly shut the door. She heard Mo's bat thud against another skull from somewhere not far inside. It seemed the more immediate threats had been dispersed. Just inside, she saw the two guards dead on the ground, the police officer nowhere in sight. She didn't dare call out to Mo. Her eyes caught movement in their periphery. She looked to her left just in time to see the door behind the reception desk closing slowly and quietly. It had to be them.

With a deep breath, she checked her path to the exam rooms. Other than having to step around a few bodies, it was clear. She opened the door behind the check-in and stepped into the long, door-lined hallway. They were there, just a few feet ahead of her. She started to call out them, but stopped short when she heard the exam room door right next to her open. She turned to look, to run if it was one of those crazy fuckers, but it was just the cop from before. She nodded to him and turned back to call out to Mo and Shadow, but a strong hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged her into the exam room before she even knew what was happening.


End file.
